


Hole-in-Pocket

by LivaWilborg



Series: Dragonlance - Knight and Kender [2]
Category: Dragonlance - Margaret Weis & Tracy Hickman
Genre: 351 years after the Cataclysm, Gen, Kender, Knights of Solamnia, Krynn, Original Character(s), dragonlance - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-11
Updated: 2017-10-11
Packaged: 2019-01-16 03:05:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12334215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LivaWilborg/pseuds/LivaWilborg
Summary: Rowan and Rak travel to Houlinpoket, the kender village where Rak's parents live, so she can tell her family what happened to her brother.But all is not well in the small village and Rowan finds himself having to defend the kender against a greedy human ruler, using an unconventional weapon not often found in a knight of Solamnia's arsenal.PS: The plural of "kender" is "kender". I looked it up. I'm booksy that way. LOL =D





	Hole-in-Pocket

_Mum, look at me. I’m the tallest man!_ The boy’s voice had echoed in Rowan’s mind all morning, a remnant of a nightmare, and his thoughts kept circling around Morgannon’s death. If he could have waited, perhaps less than an hour, before confronting him, maybe the cleric would have healed the child?

But perhaps that would have been even crueller. If the sicknesses Morgannon had taken from the stricken had nowhere to go, no innocent victims in the cellar to be transferred to, perhaps the ailments would simply have returned to those they were taken from?

”No, stop!” Raksana shouted suddenly, catapulting Rowan out of his gloomy reverie. He pulled the reins and Ben stopped dancingly, confused by the kender’s legs kicking him as she eagerly clambered past Rowan.

He quickly scanned the empty plains: “What!” he demanded, getting a heel to the chest when the kender jumped down, clinging to Ben’s neck. She scuttled to the bank of the Gold River, which they’d been following for a few days.

“Fish-nibbles!” she yelled happily, after skimming through the green leaves of the riverbank with her hands. Rowan dismounted and walked to where the grinning kender stood.

“Fish-nibbles.” she said again, eyes wide, grinning. “This is great. We have to stop here, and there are trees, so it’s perfect for the spear. Do you have some string? No, never mind, I think I have some. And we can have laundry day; not that I’m saying you’re stinky, but I’m sitting right behind you and when the wind is-“ Raksana broke off her stream of commentary to sniff her armpit and made a gagging sound. “Alright, see, I’m a bit whiffy too and Ben could use a-“

Rowan held up a hand to stop her. “Fish nipples...” he said, dreading the answer.

Raksana happily picked a small green plant and held it up in his face. “See!”

“Yes. No. Not at all.” Rowan said.

“It’s nibbles for fish. There’s gotta be lots here, so we can have real food tonight! We do this all the time back home.” Raksana said, rolling her eyes. “Honestly! Sometimes you’re sort of a bit ...dim? I thought you were from this place, like me? And you never heard of fish-nibbles?”

“Oh, nibbles, as in treats! Food you nibble at! ...Thank the gods.” Rowan said. “And I’m from Palanthas, not the Plains.” he felt compelled to add. “Wait. You’re from here? A Solamnic kender?”

“Yeah...” Rak frowned. “I’m from a kender village just about a week westward from here. Alright, a little more like double up, but less more with Ben’s help. Maybe ten days or something. And I was actually... I was sort of wondering...” her voice trailed off and she lowered the sprig of leaves, giving Rowan a serious stare.

“You want to go home?” he asked.

“I... sort of don’t.” she said. “When I tell my mum and dad what happened to Spinkle... Then it will be _real_ -real, won’t it? Because they still think he’s alive, so in a way, he is. Kalla and Willofree too.”

“I understand that.” Rowan looked at all the emotions flitting across her features as she spoke and didn’t envy her the task of being the bearer of such news. “We can easily go there, so you can tell your family. I have to go back to Vingaard to report what happened in Friholm, so perhaps, if you need to spend time with your family...”

Rak bit her lip: “I was sort of hoping that, maybe, if you weren’t busy, you know, you could come along? I have the Spinkle Quest to think about, so if you are there, it won’t seem so bad.”

A quiet thrill of horror ran through Rowan’s mind. A kender village. There would be absolutely no way he would leave with everything he came with. But Rak’s hopeful smile made up his mind for him.

He was initially surprised at the fact that kender had real feelings, but no matter what, he couldn’t abandon a friend. An ally who had selflessly endangered herself to save him. And the Measure would also dictate that he should do as she asked. ...Although the knights and scholars penning the Measure probably never considered kender a part of their creed. 

“I will happily accompany you. If you need me there, I will be.”

Rak gave a little sigh of relief, and then grinned: “Thanks! So we’ll stop here? With the laundry?”

Rowan sniffed his shirt.

“Maybe not a bad plan.” he stated.

 

o-0-o

 

He’d been debating with himself whether it was completely appropriate standing around in a river, wearing only his pants, rolled up to the knees. Raksana was technically, if not exactly, a lady? ...Or at least a woman.

But the kender had happily stripped down to her underwear and jumped, screaming, into the river, and Rowan had reached the conclusion that too much prudence would be absurd, his company considered. As he washed the travel dust, sweat and blood-stains out of his clothes he felt oddly at peace.

The afternoon sun was strong on his back and Rak was washing her flower-embroidered dress by swimming around with it in her hands, the garment trailing after her in the water. She was laughing and diving and looking perfectly satisfied at what life was handing her.

“Aren’t you supposed to wash your clothes, not just take them for a swim?” he called to her when she surfaced.

Rak swam closer: “You mean like this?” she asked, and flung the dress over her head so it hit the water, a small tidal wave splashing Rowan with the impact. He closed his eyes instinctively, and doused in cold water there was a moment’s darkness in his mind where waking up in Morgannon’s cellar, bound and hurting, haunted his thoughts.

Then the kender’s impish grin registered and he retaliated, laughing as the water hit Raksana’s face.

The water-fight quickly got completely out of control. Maybe travelling with a kender wasn’t exactly what the Measure dictated, but he couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so unencumbered.

 

o-0-o

 

Rowan’s pants dried slowly as he rummaged around the camp, the sun mercifully persistent: “You wouldn’t happen to have ...found my knife, would you?” he called to Raksana who was standing very still in the water.

“You’re scaring the fishes.” she said, exasperated. “I put it in the blue bag when you dropped it. Just be quiet.” She held her makeshift spear poised above the water, deep concentration returning to her face.

Rowan rummaged through her bag, liberating his knife, his whetstone and Morgannon’s journal. Then he sat in the sun, wrapped in his blanket; poking the fire idly and brewing some tarbean tea.

Rak’s efforts kept her still for an impressive amount of time. Quiet and poised with the spear. He would never have guessed she could concentrate on something for so long, especially considering the wild activity of bunching up the fish-nibble leaves, tying them to the side of her leg and whittling her makeshift spear.

Rowan felt fairly certain they would be eating stale biscuits for dinner again. But the day was not without merit or efforts, he noted to himself, getting up to turn some of the laundry decorating the branches of the nearby trees.

The sun was a golden disk on the western horizon. Rowan was staring serenely at the kender when suddenly there was a quick movement and a splash. And Raksana hoisted the spear in the air with both hands, an enormous golden carp thrashing on the improvised weapon.

She gave a laughing scream of victory and struggled to hold the spear and Rowan ran to the water to help her ashore. He took the spear from her when she was out of the water and he saw her shaking with cold.

“I told you! They can’t resist it!” she said, her teeth chattering.

“You are truly a genius of angling! Impressive job.” Rowan grinned. “Now take a good run and get warm again.”

“I hunted. You cook.” Rak stated as she pulled her boots on and wrapped herself in a blanket. Then she shot off, laughing loudly as she ran in circles around their camp.

As he cleaned and prepared the fish, Rowan couldn’t help being impressed at how much tumult one very small person could bring about, simply by being alive.

 

o-0-o

 

Rowan had surreptitiously hidden his necklace in his belt, secured with knots aplenty, and Morgannon’s journal was hidden under his tunic, the most uninteresting place he could think of, as they drew nearer to Rak’s home.

A grey, unkind rain had replaced the sunlight they had grown accustomed to. The kender’s mood plummeted with the cold drizzle. The only sound in the landscape was the dripping of raindrops on the leaves of the small copse of forest cluttering the riverbank they followed. Sitting behind Rowan, the kender put her arms around his chest and held on tightly, saying nothing. Her quiet was oddly deafening.

The first sign that a village was near was a small patch of beans at the edge of the forest, the fresh green sprigs neatly bound to wooden climbers. A little further along came a larger field of winter squash. Raksana mutely pointed down the treeline and Rowan steered Ben quietly along the forest’s edge, unconsciously soaking up her silent sadness.

In the distance, sounds of voices carried. The sound of a smith’s hammer clanged crisply in the air. They turned down a broad dirt path into the woods, the forest floor littered with berry bushes and creeping, wild strawberry plants on the verge of blooming.

“Rak!” a cheerful voice suddenly sounded from above. Rowan looked up and found a young kender boy grinning at them brightly from his perch on a tree branch. His long ponytailed hair was an almost painful white and he was grinning from ear to ear. “I thought you were riders. But that would be really odd, because they don’t do that. All quiet. You’re back!” he said happily and scuttled down.

“Hi, Mint. You’ve grown a lot.” Raksana’s voice sounded miserable and subdued.

“Who are you?” Mint asked when he reached the ground, pointing at Rowan. “Are you Rak’s friend?” he continued before Rowan could answer anything: “I bet you have some great stories to tell. It’s so exciting. I’m gonna go tell everyone you’re back.” he stated and darted off down the path.

“Want to walk?” Rowan asked and felt Raksana shake her head behind him.

“This is awful.” Rak said.

Rowan nudged Ben forward. He couldn’t think of anything to say so he padded her hands still locked around him.

From further down the path soon came the sound of cheering and shouting, and an excited barking, and a small army of kender children came into view, followed by a couple of happy dogs. A little girl riding a goat made up the group’s rear guard. He wasn’t sure if he felt a kind of horror at the thought of the tsunami of kender or if Rak’s sadness had won or, perhaps, if the obvious delight of the onrushing, chatting, yelling and excited children was actually making him happy. The mix of emotions was confusing at best, and he looked over his shoulder to check on Rak.

She gave the children a weak smile. “I have to go home first.” she said when the crowd of children milled around Ben’s legs. “I can’t play right now.”

“What’s wrong?”

“What’s the horse called?”

“Are you sad?”

“Who are you? Mint says you’re Rak friend.”

“Where’s Spinkle?”

“Ember thinks Spinkle is sweeeeet.”

“Do not!” 

“Do too!”

Rak’s grip around Rowan tightened almost painfully and she didn’t answer any of the happy calls and shouts.

“Could some of you please show me where Rak lives?” Rowan asked over the din. “She really needs to talk to her parents.”

“Sure.”

“What’s wrong with her?”

“She’s sad?”

“Why?”

“Rak? Can’t you speak?”

“Why are you crying?”

The children fell into a confused half-silence around them and Ben dutifully took them to the village.

There were no defences. No walls. The only thing marking the entrance to the village was a weathered sign, lovingly repainted over and over in different colours, saying “Houlinpoket”.

Rowan looked around, Rak’s pain forgotten for a moment. The village stretched through the forest along the river. It was a chaotic assortment of strange buildings cluttering bizarrely around the path. Some houses were wooden structures build around the trunks of trees and painted in a jumble of colours. Some looked like they were inside small, overgrown hillocks, some appeared woven of willow stalks that had long since taken root and begun growing. Stairs and ladders were constructed against the trees, leading to small houses hiding in the fresh greenery above. Some few homes were built of natural stones and wood.

From every direction, curious kender came closer, all of them either grownups, greying or toddlers.

“Two houses down from the smithy.” Rak sniffed, and Rowan finally stopped Ben by a house with a purple-painted wooden façade. A middle-aged kender man, tall for his kind, stood in the doorway looking curiously at the hubbub in the village. There was flour on his clothes and hands, even in the wild mop of greying red hair. When he saw Raksana, the smile he had worn faded.

Holding on to Rowan, Rak clumsily climbed down and Rowan dismounted after her. She stood indecisive for a second, looking up at him, tears clinging to her eyelashes.

“Go. I’ll be fine.” Rowan said, padding her shoulder gently. Then she ran, sobbing, to the man who stood frozen in the doorway, and fell into his arms.

“Dad…” she cried.

 _He knows…_ Rowan thought, when the man’s eyes met his for a second, full of unkenderlike dread. Then he led Rak inside and closed the door behind them. The crowd of kender around Rowan fell silent.

…Then a pointy-eared toddler began to cry loudly and everyone in the village exploded into curious and worried questioning.

“Did you make her cry?”

“She set off with Spinkle and Kalla and Willofree, didn’t she?”

“I miss Kalla!”

“Are you with that Barron character?”

 “No, he’s Rak’s friend.”

 “What’s wrong with Raksana?”

“Where is Willofree?”

Rowan looked around at the chaos of faces, knowing that whatever his saddlebags had held they were probably empty by now, and vaguely hoping that would slow down the questions until he figured out what to do with himself. Then the crowd parted for an ancient kender woman in a pink dress, supporting herself heavily on a staff with a peculiar sling at the top. Her long silver hair was done in a braid which was wrapped around her waist.

“What’s the fuss?” she creaked and approached slowly. The crowd of kender fell silent when she stopped in front of Rowan, squinting up at him: “Is that teeniebobber a human? Or is it a giant kender?”

“Normal human, my lady.” Rowan said, thankful at being able to concentrate on one face in the crowd.

“He’s Rak’s friend. She’s back.” a child’s voice piped in. “But she was crying.”

“Did you make my great granddaughter cry, Sapling?” the ancient woman asked, poking Rowan’s stomach with the staff.

“No, my lady.” he said.

“Why was she crying, then?” the silver-haired kender demanded.

Rowan paused: “I think you should hear that from her. Not from a stranger.” he finally settled for.

“That dark, huh?” she shook her head. “Well, if you didn’t make her cry, then you’re our guest, and welcome in Hole-in-Pocket.” she stated. “All you youngsters,” she said, indicating everyone in the village with a wave of her staff, “go find some pie! We’ll sort everything out later.”

 

o-0-o

 

It was obvious that Granny Ambertail, Raksana’s great grandmother, was thoroughly in charge of village life and Rowan spend the rest of the day being offered food and drink and letting the children, and then the grownups, ride Ben around near a patch of fields on the grasslands outside the forested village; and answering wild speculations about what knights did, after curious fingers located his armour.  

He found the kender to be kind and generous hosts and did what he could to remember what faces went with which peculiar names, like Doodlewig, Emla, Kipper, Wanderpie, Athel, Sidestep…

He learned that Raksana’s parents were named Piper and Hopdrum, but didn’t think it polite to ask which was a man’s name and which was a woman’s; until it dawned on him that it wasn’t a question likely to cause offence with his hosts and they laughingly explained that Hopdrum was the father and curiously enquired whether a human girl could be named Rowan.

Apart from the fact that everyone was happy to interrupt their chores to join in the fun and that nobody seemed to have the faintest idea who had prepared which dish, but simply picked it up somewhere in someone’s home, everything seemed like a human village.

Granted, the smith threw down his hammer in the middle of something to go climb a tree, the brewer was doing handstands and the farmers were playing tag while checking on their wheat and barley crops, but everything he would have found in a normal village was present here too.

Except young people. The wanderlust must have claimed them, and apparently didn’t let them go until they were ready to settle.

When evening fell, Raksana and her parents, and two other families, Kalla and Willofree’s, gathered everyone in the large common-house in the village and told them the news. There was sniffing and crying, until Rak jumped onto the long table and told the story of the Bad Priest who had killed her family.

Rowan felt a bit embarrassed at her rather fanciful embellishments on his actions, even when it came to things like Morgannon’s death, which she weren’t actually there to witness, but as he watched the faces in the crowd it seemed to him that there was a sense of …grieving peace in many eyes as Rak’s story concluded. It was odd to him to observe, but then he realised that most kender who died in faraway places probably did so trying to braid a minotaur’s mane or catalogue the contents of a mage’s sanctuary uninvited, and their fates were never known to their families. Just knowing why their loved ones wouldn’t be returning, and that their deaths had been avenged, seemed an unusual luxury to the villagers.

 

o-0-o

 

He could just exactly stand upright inside Rak’s parents’ house without bumping his head on the ceiling, though doorways forced him to stoop. Outside in the darkness, the sounds of the last yawning villagers returning to their homes mingled with the muted cries of night birds and the wind gently rustling through the trees.

Rak looked up at him with a tired smile and deposited her lamp on a shelf, illuminating the room. A homely and chaotic hodgepodge of items were stowed here, spilling from a chest of drawers and piled onto a small table and two chairs.

A bunk bed, kenderized, stood by a wall and Rowan guessed it was probably Rak and Spinkle’s old room. He put his bags and armour on the floor and looked at Raksana.

Her eyes were tired and she said nothing. Just looked at him, as though she had lost her way.

“How are you feeling?” he asked gently.

“I don’t really know. I’ve had longer to think about it. It’s worse for everyone else.”  She gave him a weak smile. “But I’m really glad you’re here.” Rak suddenly flung her arms around his midriff and hugged him tightly: “You’re the most different human I ever met.”

Rowan put his arms around her and was thankful she couldn’t see him smile at her comment. Of all the places he had ever imagined himself to be, a kender village named Houlinpoket was probably the very last. Rak stood still for a moment, then she yawned and stepped back and Rowan ruffled her hair softly.

“What happens tomorrow?” he asked.

“We’ll tell stories about Spinkle and Kalla and Willofree at the party.” she said.

“Party?”

Rak nodded innocently.

“…Alright. Just let me know what you expect of me. What I can do to help.”

She smiled. “You just have to have fun. You didn’t know them first hand, but you can hear all the stories about them and get to know them better. And maybe tell some stories about those gods, if you like? Or that guy they mourn for when it thunders. I forgot the name, but I remember you were talking about it with Ben, back when we met.”

“I…” Rowan faltered. “I’m not a very good storyteller. I’m sorry.”

“Have you tried?” Rak asked, scepticism trumping her tiredness for a moment. “You told me what happened with the Bad Priest. That was a really good story.”

Rowan nodded, trying not to smile. From her retelling this evening, it was obvious she had gotten a lot more out of his laconic report of events than he had ever put into it.

“That was a little different.” he said. “You were the only audience. I can’t promise you that I’ll have a story to tell tomorrow.”

“Alright, you don’t have to… But you can if you feel like it.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Rowan said. “I’ll grab some blankets and sleep in the living room?” he asked.

“Actually…” Raksana looked up at him and held out her hands before letting them fall to her sides, as though she suddenly wasn’t sure what to do with herself.

“What is it?” he asked, seeing her squirm a little.

“Well… Last time I was home, Spinkle was here too. And this is our room and I never tried sleeping here alone and it feels really, really wrong and sad…” She sat down despondently on the lower bunk bed. “So I was wondering if… I mean…”

Rowan looked at her, and couldn’t suppress a smile at the sudden childish awkwardness she exhibited. “I don’t mind sleeping in here, if that’s what you mean?” he said. They were used to falling asleep by a fire and if he slept on the floor in one place or another wasn’t important.

“Really? You don’t mind?” she said happily. “I know the bed is a bit short for you, but-“

“What? The bed?” Rowan interrupted.

Rak jumped to her feet and stood on tip-toe to pad the top bunk: “Yeah, it’s good. Mattress Day is at the beginning of spring, so it just got aired and I don’t like it if you have to sleep on the floor and then-“

“But… Rak… It’s your brother’s. I can’t do that.” He looked at the bed. It seemed like a sturdy enough construction. But it was built for kender youngsters, he suspected, and he wasn’t sure it would be robust enough to carry a full-grown human.

“Yes, you can. You won’t hardly have to climb or anything. And it would really mean a lot to me to not be alone. And Spinkle wouldn’t mind. If he was here.”

“But…” Rowan looked at her pleading eyes. Then he tentatively reached out to push the bed, testing the wobbliness of the construction. It seemed sturdy. “What if it falls down and I end up crushing you? Besides, won’t your parents think it’s a bit odd that a stranger is sleeping in their… dead son’s bed?” he asked.

“My dad built it himself, and he’s a carpenter, and you’re not a stranger. Everyone here knows you, and you killed the Bad Priest, and my parents are just grateful that you’re a good friend.”

Rowan tried hard to suppress his sigh as he looked at the top bunk, and silently amended his previous thought to himself: Of all the places he had ever imagined himself to be, _a kenderized bunk bed_ in a kender village named Houlinpoket was probably the very last…

 

o-0-o

 

When the sunlit morning came, a wild kender chaos of activity made Rowan forget the fact that his lower legs had been dangling off the end of the bed all night, which had kept waking him up with a fear of falling haunting his dreams.

He helped the villagers carry all the tables in their houses outside on the dirt path running through the village, and to set up benches and chairs for everyone.

The excited chatting about which stories to tell and energetic preparation of food that followed was hardly a mood he associated with funerals. He thought back to his grandfather’s burial which was one of the blackest days in his memory. His mother had sobbed so heartbreakingly and almost had to be carried by his father. And Rowan had been left standing by the gravesite, holding his baby sister in his arms, completely lost and crying silently, until his older brother Jarret had made an uncharacteristic show of affection and hugged him …though Jarret still managed to whisper “You’re a jerk” through his own tears.

But here was laughter, music, preparations for sharing food and stories. 

Humans viewed kender as thieves, but Rowan was beginning to think they were nothing of the sort. They took things, but they also happily gave away, and from the looks of village life, nobody found it the least bit weird that someone else walked into their home and took the pie they had just baked or absentmindedly left with their frying pan.

The thought of someone walking in to his parents’ house in Palanthas, grabbing a book in his father’s library and leaving casually, made Rowan laugh to himself. That would possibly be the only thing in existence which could provoke his father’s rage.

At midday the tables were piled with food and drink, and heaps of random items that had - maybe, sort of, at some point - belonged to the deceased, and everyone gathered around. Rowan expected someone to say something, to give some sort of eulogy for the departed, but the villagers all took a seat and from everywhere around the table came stories about the three people they had lost, happily told while people ate and the piles of items became smaller as things vanished into pockets and bags.

Suddenly, over the din of chatting voices, a faint rumble reached Rowan’s ears. It didn’t sound like thunder, and the sky was clear. He felt a small stab of anxiety and poked Raksana next to him. “You hear that?” he asked.

She stood up, her grin replaced by a curious frown as she tried to drown out the voices around them. “I hear it.” she nodded, puzzled. “Hooves?”

The rumbling sound grew louder, a faint, hollow clanging blending into it. “Riders?” Rowan said, standing up too, which caught more attention than when Rak did. Those nearest fell silent and then Hopdrum jumped to his feet too and yelled “They’re back!” And Piper, Rak’s mother, shouted: “Hoopaks, now!”.

The sound of hooves, cowbells and mooing was close now, unmistakable, coming from the edge of the village beyond the treeline where the fields were. Laughing shouts of men mingled with it.

“Get the children!” someone in the village shouted and kender everywhere jumped into action, the meal and stories forgotten, and grabbed the protesting children sitting closest to them and ran to the houses.

Other grownups ran towards the sound and Rowan ran with them, Rak and Hopdrum by his side.

“What is it?” he heard Raksana yell.

“Barron’s riders.” Hopdrum replied as they ran.

“Who!” Rak shouted, but then they had cleared the treeline. The sight of a mass of running cows greeted them.   

Four men on horseback were riding back and forth across the plains and fields, yelling and laughing, keeping the herd of about forty cows close to the treeline. The cows looked confused and were trampling the fresh crops into the ground as they milled about. Some of them were straying into the edge of the forest.

Some kender began shouting and waving their arms to scare the cows away from the fields, some came running with the same type of staff as Ambertail had supported herself on and whirled them in the air, producing a loud whooshing screech. With a shrill shout, Raksana jumped onto the back of a cow rushing past, clinging to the horns recklessly, and tried to steer it away from the village.  Other kender did the same in the turmoil of hooves and horns.

For a moment, Rowan stood rooted to the spot, just looking at the absurd pandemonium of confused cows and yelling kender. One of the riders spurred his horse and thundered close to where Rak’s cow had gone and he held up a hand as if to smack her as he rode past, laughing as he did so.

Anger finally snapped Rowan to attention, and furiously pushing cows aside and dodging random kender-arms and legs, he tried to get past the bovine bedlam to reach the riders. He wasn’t certain if Raksana had been hit, a yelling kender on cowback sailed past and robbed him of his vision, but he _was_ certain it made no difference. She had still been threatened, no matter what had happened.

Free of the worst of the mooing chaos, Rowan sprinted for the closest rider. The man on horseback saw his approach, and from the look in his face he didn’t really believe what he was seeing. Then the man spurred his horse to get away, but was halted by a wave of cows which made the horse dance sideways and Rowan caught up.

He furiously grabbed the horse’s headcollar, and held on tightly as the rider pulled the reins to make him let go.

“Piss off, you. You don’t know who you’re messing with!” the rider snarled at him.

“You are ruining their crops! Stop this immediately!” Rowan shouted.

The man laughed: “Or what?”

“Dismount and find out!”

The rider laughed and stopped trying to break away from Rowan’s grip. He whistled sharply through his fingers and signalled the others with a wave of his hand. Rowan quickly looked around and found the other riders closing in.

“We’ve done what we came for. Rein them in.” the rider called to his fellows.

“Why are you doing this, you coward!” Rowan demanded.

“Orders from Lord Barron. Clueless, kenderloving peasant like you wouldn’t get that.”  He pulled the reins making the horse toss its head and sidestep in Rowan’s grip. Then his foot shot out. Caught completely by surprise, Rowan didn’t have time to move away and the man’s foot impacted squarely with his chest; the force of the kick sent him sliding across the ground.

Stunned, Rowan lay flat on his back, trying to catch his breath through the hollow pain in his chest and fought for control of his body to curl up and avoid being trampled by the mass of hooves that were now at eye level. When finally the pain left him room to breathe and he managed to get to his feet, most of the cows had passed, herded away by the riders.

“Rowan!” Piper had reached him. “He kicked you!” she exclaimed, obviously horrified.

“I’m alright. Don’t worry.” he said and looked down on the dusty boot-print adorning his tunic.

Rak was close behind her. “Your face is bleeding.” she said.

There were running feet and the defenders gathered around him to watch the cows depart.

“Are you hurt?” Rowan asked Raksana. “Did anyone get hurt?” he asked, looking around. The kender seemed angry, dejected or frustrated, nobody appeared injured.

“Our fields…” Raksana said, turning to look at the destruction.

“Oh, no…” Hopdrum said tonelessly. “It’s going to be so boring sowing again.”

Rowan slowly brushed the boot-print off his tunic as the anger that had warmed him turned considerably colder. “This has happened before!” he said to Hopdrum, who nodded.

“Five times now.” the kender said.

“Will they be back?” Rowan enquired.

Hopdrum nodded. “They will. But not for a while. They just destroy things and then they go away for a couple of months.”

“Why aren’t we fighting them!” Raksana suddenly exploded angrily, echoing Rowans thoughts.

“We could. Easily.” Piper said and put her hands on her daughter’s angry face: “But then the next time, they wouldn’t send cows. They’ll send soldiers. And we have all the little babykins and kiddies to think of.”

Rowan knew it was true and he hated it; and judging from Rak’s furious scowl, she shared this sentiment. He desperately wanted to saddle Ben and ride after Barron’s men and let them know what it was like to be the victim. But Piper was right.

The problem had to be solved. But not with physical force.

He drew a deep breath. “Alright.” he said, carefully keeping his voice level. “I’ll need to know everything you can tell me about Lord Barron. But right now, we have a memorial party to get back to, don’t you agree?”

 

o-0-o

 

It took a while before peace was finally restored and people were able to have fun again. But the kender were sturdy people and the party slowly got going again after some exasperated talk about having to resow the fields that had been destroyed.

When Lunitari, the red moon, rose above the treetops, and the smallest children fell asleep, cider and lamps were brought and the stories and jokes told around the table took a wilder turn. Some of the kender picked up their musical instruments again and soon couples were dancing and the older children were jumping around, cheering on their parents.

Rowan had been speaking with a kender boy named Ripple, probably of an age just about to catch the wanderlust. Ripple often looked away dreamily as they spoke and it was a while before Rowan realised it was Raksana, proclaiming her poetry further down the table, who drew the boy’s gaze.

A little later, Rak jumped onto the bench next to Rowan and put an arm around his shoulders: “You can’t just sit there when people are dancing.” she grinned: “Come on!” and she hopped to the ground and pulled his arm.

“I’d just stomp everyone’s feet, Rak.” he laughed, happy at seeing the grin back on her features after the sadness of yesterday and the anger after the riders. “Besides,” he added, and pulled Raksana closer so he could whisper to her: “I think young Ripple across the table would be really jealous.”

Rak giggled and ruffled Rowan’s hair, like he had often done to her, and then she climbed across the table and pulled Ripple’s arm instead. “Come on.” she grinned. “Unused feet get lazy!”

Rowan watched them dance and couldn’t help marvel at kender resilience. Piper and Hopdrum were dancing too, and he saw Hopdrum wrap his wife’s long blond braid around his neck and kiss her softly and they looked at each other with sudden mutual sorrow. They just lost their son, but still they managed to be alive. Not because they didn’t miss him, but because they honoured his memory by holding a celebration he would have enjoyed too. It was a completely new way of handling grief, to a human mind at least, but he couldn’t help admiring it.

“Well, Sapling. That’s water in your cup.” came a creaky voice next to him and he found Granny Ambertail standing close, squinting sceptically into the cup in front of him.

Rowan got to his feet and bowed to her. She gave a laugh: “Not one for cider, eh?”

“Not one for alcohol, my lady.”

“You have some funny ideas for a human, Sapling. And everyone else, for that matter.” Ambertail stated, not unkindly. “But I _am_ one for alcohol, so grab that cider-skin there and walk me home. We need to talk.”

Rowan slung the strap of the cider-skin over his shoulder, picked up a lantern and followed her dutifully. They slowly made their way through the din of the party and further down the path towards the end of the village. He wished he could have reached out an arm so she could support herself on him, but age had shrunken the kender woman so low he would have had to crawl on his knees to be of any use to her.

“How’s the wound?” Ambertail asked as they walked.

“Not deep. It’ll heal.” Rowans fingers went to his cheek, feeling the injury from his sliding acquaintance with the ground earlier.

“There we are, Sapling.”  Ambertail said, stopping in front of a round wooden house with a small porch and a low stone bench in front. “Be a good boy, and go inside and fetch my shawl and a cup.”

Rowan nodded silently, prepared to consider her request an experience. The door was unlocked. It didn’t even have a lock, he noticed. He lit his way through the house, every bit as chaotic as Rak’s home. He learned that Granny Ambertail kept her cups in the living room windowsill and finally found a colourful, embroidered shawl hanging by the fireplace in the tiny kitchen.

When he came back from his expedition, hanging the lantern on a hook in the small overhang above the porch, she wrapped herself in the shawl and unhurriedly poured a cup of cider. Then Ambertail padded the bench next to her and Rowan took a seat.

After taking a sip of cider, the old kender woman finally sighed: “You are angry.” she stated.

Rowan looked down, not sure what he had expected from her and trying to gather his thoughts.

“So are we.” Ambertail continued. “When we are out in the world, all afrenzy with wanderlust, we can respond to it. The anger. But we are here in Hole-in-Pocket to raise our families.”

“I understand that.” Rowan said. “You fear they will send soldiers if you retaliate.”

“I’m very happy you are not a stupid human, Sapling.”

“So am I, my lady.”

Ambertail laughed.

“Why are they attacking you like this?” Rowan enquired.

“We asked ourselves that. They want us to move, but why? We don’t understand that. We’re not hurting anyone.” Ambertail said, a note of puzzlement in her voice.

“How did it start?”

“The autumn before last, they came here and said Lord Barron owned the land and that we had to remove ourselves. Naturally we didn’t. You can’t just move a village, a home. Then they started with the cows.”

“Lord Barron. Who is he?” Rowan asked.

“Some human.” Ambertail shrugged her delicate shoulders. “I never knew he was a lord of anything. He lives in a town called Hadburg about two hours south from here. So I went to see him of course. To sort things out.”

“What did he do?”

“He was rather rude!” Ambertail stated. “He got all red in the face with anger and threw me in prison.”

“He did what!” Rowan exclaimed, the anger instantly bubbling to the surface at the thought of anyone laying a hand on a frail, old lady.

“Yes. …Damned shame too. I broke my favourite lock-pick getting out and had to make do with my second most favourite one.” she shook her head sadly.

Before Rowan could answer, an old, grey couple walked past, hand in hand, and the man said: “Night, mum. Sleep well.” and the woman waved: “You too, Rowan.” she added, before they made their way into the neighbouring house.

Ambertail and Rowan both waved at them.

“That little spring-hare is Quibby, my son, and his wife-“

“Twig.” Rowan said. “I talked with her yesterday.”

The ancient kender chuckled. “That’s right, Sapling.”

They fell silent for a moment; then Rowan said: “Lord Barron wants you to move, but how long has Hole-in-Pocket been here?”

“We settled here when Berrybane’s pocket-stitches broke and his stuff tumbled out of his shorts and we couldn’t be bothered picking it up. I was fifty-one at the time, and not sure I was ready to slow down.” Ambertail said and a wistful tone entered her voice when she continued: “Of course, in the end, the fact that Berrybane was so smoking hot didn’t make the decision that difficult. He always made my knees feel a bit like butter in the sun, he did.”

Rowan tried to hide his grin and Ambertail laughed.

“We began building the village and that soon became an adventure in itself.” she said. “We also went to Hadburg back then, and invited our new neighbours to our founding shindig, and nobody mentioned having a claim to the land. We even had some trade with them. We bought our first seeds there in exchange for musical instruments and pretty baubles from our bags. We’ve been trading with them from time to time, too, in all these years, as both our towns grew. Until a few years ago when they stopped letting us set up at their marketplace for no good reason.”

Rowan nodded thoughtfully: “I intend to go there tomorrow. I’ll find a solution.” he said.

“No, Sapling. You are our guest. We’ll find some way to deal with this. I know how humans work, and they can be wicked, mean types. …No offence to you.” she added as an afterthought.

“None taken. I’m ashamed they are treating you like this. I won’t hurt anyone in Hadburg unless I’m forced to, but my honour is my life, and I cannot under any circumstances leave this place without stopping their attacks.”

Ambertail squinted up at him for a while: “I had a feeling you would say that.” she said. “I hope you can talk some sense into their tiny hearts.”

 

o-0-o

 

The next morning, Rak was jumping up and down to come with him, but Rowan explained how he would need to set up a meeting and do a lot of serious talking and look at documents and land claims and old law books and boundary maps; and Rak made a snoring sound and then grinned at him, apparently satisfied with her fate of staying behind.

He felt her efforts were better spent helping with the fields the riders had destroyed.

…And having a kender along, with all the chaos this potentially entailed, might take some shine out of his armour, Rowan admitted guiltily to himself.

He fully intended for his visit to Hadburg to be polite, un-chaotic and not violent, but no matter what angle he studied his immediate future from, it was also a show of force. But so was herding cattle through a field, he reminded himself angrily before weightily tying his emotions down.

As he put his armour on, buckled his sword belt and spend a memorable twenty minutes mobilising the children in the village to help locate his knife, which had mysteriously gone missing, he kept the concept of dignified emotional self-restraint foremost in his mind.

 

o-0-o

 

It was clear that Hadburg had been a large town, probably before the Cataclysm. When he rode through the gates he saw that the town was full of once beautiful houses and community buildings, but most of them were in more or less complete disrepair and appeared to have been pulled halfway apart to use the stones for other projects.

The wall around Hadburg was half crumbled. But as he entered the town centre he saw signs of recent revival. The town hall had been restored and so had several of the larger houses around it. Builders were working on repairing a structure that might have been a library or school house and a lively trade was happening at a roofed marketplace; farmers from the outlying holdings trading and selling their goods.

 A lot of people gave him looks that ranged between suspicious half-fear to watchfulness. He ignored them. He might not be a welcome sight, representing upholders of a law which people had long since lost faith in, but nobody challenged him.

He had asked the guard on duty by the gates where he could find Lord Barron and had been told that the “Merchant Lord of the City” lived in the great house next to the city hall. Rowan scoffed in his thoughts at the title. Hadburg might be a fairly large town, but it would easily fit into a small slice of Palanthas and never be heard from again.

The house was indeed quite large, though, and three stories high. It had obviously been restored recently; most of the solid timber beams of the structure hadn’t had time to weather. The house was excessively well kept, the large double doors flanked by small flowering trees, and banners flying from poles under the eaves displayed a crest of a bull’s head on a background of crossed wheat stalks.

Searching through his memory, Rowan couldn’t remember ever having seen this heraldic symbol before, or even something like it.

He tied Ben’s reins around a tethering post outside the house and, repeating his resolution of self-control to himself, he lifted the metal ring on the door and knocked once. A little while later, a well-dressed, middle-aged man opened. Rowan guessed him to be a scribe of some sort. There was a moment’s hesitation where the man just stared.

“I am Rowan Virkhus, Knight of the Crown. I was told Lord Barron lives here. I need to speak to him.” he stated.

“Ehm…” The man hesitated, his eyes on Rowan’s armour and weapons. Rowan took a step forward; the man in the doorway took a step back.

“Do you have an appointment, sir? I don’t seem to recall-“

 “I do not. But it is in Lord Barron’s best interest to see me without delay. Please go and tell him that.” Rowan took another step into the hall and the other man finally seemed to reach the conclusion that this was far enough above his paygrade to warrant acquiescence.

“Please wait here, I will inform Lord Barron.” he said and retreated warily through a door at the other end of the hall. Rowan caught a glimpse of a long corridor, running the length of the house, before the door was closed and he was alone.

He looked around the hall. It was quite excessively equipped. An intricate, wrought iron handrail adorned the stairs leading to the floor above and the wall was lined with great, carved bookshelves holding only large, uniform volumes. He could easily see the titles from where he stood, a way off.

The books seemed to be mostly classics on history and warfare, but he doubted if they had ever been read. They were obviously displayed there to be seen and nothing else. He assumed that wishing to appear learned was also how books like Tespar’s “Poetry of Ergothian Warfare” and Syl-Dobeth’s “Manual of Cavalry Placement”, both quite slim tomes, could ever become bound as such large books.

What kind of nitwit would be impressed at the sight of a book, rather than the words in it? he wondered disapprovingly when the door opened again and the scribe came back.

“I’m sorry, but Lord Barron is in an important meeting and cannot be disturbed. Perhaps four days from now, if you would like to make an appointment…”

Rowan’s teeth clenched and he forced his thoughts to dignified self-restraint for a moment.  “That is not acceptable. He will see me now.” he said, keeping his voice level, and made his way to the door the man had just emerged from.

“No. Stop. You can’t do that!” the scribe exclaimed loudly and came closer, before hesitating.

Rowan’s hand was on the door handle. He pressed it down and the door clicked open: “Seems I can. Where is he?” he demanded tersely.

“No stop! The lord is in a meeting.”

Rowan ignored the man and walked down the carpeted corridor, the scribe now on his heels.

There were three doors. The first was rather plain; the second was a pair of double doors which he assumed would lead into a dining room. The last was quite sumptuous with bronze inlays. He pointed at it as he walked: “This one?”

“Yes. No! Sir! Please!” the scribe finally put a hand on Rowan’s shoulder, stopping him. Rowan spun around. There was no anger in the scribe’s features, not yet, but the man was obviously horrified at this breach of protocol.

“You cannot go in there, Lord Barron is-“

“In an important meeting, yes. I heard you.” Rowan snapped. “But when a man commits a crime, he does not get to set the date of his hearing. So unhand me this instant!”

The hand on his shoulder was hastily withdrawn and Rowan fiercely strode to the door. He knocked once and entered.

It was a spacious office, as lavishly furnished as the hall. At a large table two men were seated, papers strewn before them.  One was lean and tall, with short grey hair and dressed in a rather sombre robe. The other was a bit on the pudgy side, middle aged, dressed in an expensive velvet robe with a golden chain around his neck. Both of them jumped to their feet as Rowan entered.

The portly man went red in the face: “What is the meaning of this! Who are you, you rat. Get out of here or I’ll call the guards!” he shouted furiously.

“I’m Rowan Virkhus, Knight of Solamnia, and I am here to give you a chance to explain the wanton aggression you have committed, repeatedly, on a harmless farming community!” Rowan said as evenly as he could and marched to the table.

“What! What are you talking about! I’ve done no such thing.”

“Interesting! The people herding your cattle through the kender village up north were quite specific about doing so on your orders.”

“Bah!” Barron gave a mocking laugh: “The kender? So what! They are vermin; breeding utterly out of control. Are you a complete idiot! I have every right to do as I please on my land.”

Rowan’s fists clenched and there was nothing he would rather do than punch the man in front of him. And keep punching. “You made them fear for the safety of their children and interrupted a funeral.” he stated curtly, anger held in tight reins. “If you do indeed own the land, then the kender are your tenants and you are honourbound to protect them. And any abuse of them is a criminal act, whether you own the land or not.”

“There is nothing criminal about getting rid of kender. Are you blind and stupid! They are thieves! They are the criminals!” Lord Barron stated, puffing himself up importantly. “And you, Sir Whatever, will pay for this insolence. Do you know who I am?”

Rowan barely suppressed an incredulous laugh: “No. I do not. I only heard your name yesterday when you attacked the village. And now-“

“I am the lord of this city! If I decide to remove someone from my lands, I will. My word is law. Now get out!”

“The law is law. And it punishes criminals; noble and commoner alike.  And now you have a choice-“

“Didn’t you hear me? Get out or I will have you thrown out.” Barron bellowed.  

“…You have a choice!”  Rowan raised his voice. “You can either prove to me that you own the land and compensate the kender for the damage you caused. Or you can take this up with the Council of Justice in Vingaard Keep.” He quickly held up a hand to silence the other man. “I’ll be at the town hall. You have until sundown.”

Rowan turned on his heel and marched out of the office, barely contained anger boiling in his mind.

Behind him, Lord Barron shouted: “Guards!”

Rowan kept walking. There were running footsteps behind him.

“Guards!” Barron shouted again, closer this time.

 _Dignified emotional self-restraint_ he thought grimly to himself, tensing for combat as the sound of running footsteps, in front of him too, reached his ears. He came to the hall and quickly registered a man he guessed to be one of the riders from yesterday, come running down the stairs.

“Guards! I want that man punished.” Barron screamed from the doorway.

The rider didn’t even think before he attacked but ran straight towards Rowan, his fist raised. He swung, obviously relying on brute strength and an untrained opponent.

When Rowan moved to dodge the attack, he felt an unpleasant smile curl his lips. He caught the rider by the wrist before the man could steady himself, twisted his arm backwards into a painful grip and placed a solid kick to the side of his knee. The attacker crashed to the floor, arm held in a lock behind his back. Rowan quickly clamped down on the man’s shoulder, pressing him into compliance, and almost enjoyed the loud exclamation of pain as the stress on the arm threatened to snap the elbow joint.

Rowan lifted his gaze and looked at Lord Barron, standing wide eyed, and finally silent, in the doorway.

“You just wilfully attacked a Knight of Solamnia!” Rowan stated. “I strongly suggest you deal with me, rather than take your claim to Vingaard, or this action will weigh heavily against you. I will see you at sundown.”

He relaxed his grip a bit on the kneeling man in front of him and padded his shoulder: “Commendable loyalty.” he told him, as an afterthought. “Just a pity it’s so profoundly misplaced.”

He let the whimpering man drop to the floor and left the house.

 

o-0-o

 

When Rowan emerged into the sunlight, Ben began tossing his head at the tethering post, his ears swivelling. Rowan sighed, but couldn’t stop a smile. “No combat for you.” he said, padding the horse’s neck to calm him down. “First part of this is over. Now we just have to wait until sundown.”

He drew a deep breath and loosened Ben’s reins. “Calm down. I was just angry. …Not at you.” he added softly and drew Ben down the street: “Let’s find you a stable, hm? See if someone here has saved some apples?”

Ben gave a snort and shook his head as they walked.

When they found a tavern behind the marketplace, Rowan stabled Ben and made sure he was comfortable. He preferred to do this himself, at the risk of seeming miserly in the eyes of stable personnel across Solamnia. In Ben’s disreputable past was the time he was known as “Bity Bastard”, the terror of the Vingaard Stables, as many a stable boy had found out if he ignored the instructions to divert Ben’s attention with food before attempting to groom him.

As he worked, Rowan vaguely wondered what he should do with himself for the rest of the day and whether it was likely that Barron would even respond. Also, what he would do in case he didn’t. Taking the case to Vingaard would take weeks, months. And a vindictive Barron, awaiting a judgement, would hardly sit idle in the interim.

Angrily, he stopped this thought. Barron had been attacked on his home ground, and there was no chance he would let that sit. He would show up. Probably with armed guards… Rowan sighed to himself. There was no other course of action open to him than to keep calm and wait.

As he turned to leave the stable, he found a man standing a few feet behind him. Sombre, grey robes. Short grey hair. The man who had been present in Barron’s office earlier.

The man gave a small bow: “Sir… Virkhus? I’m sorry to intrude on you, but there’s something I’d like to discuss. I believe we can help each other.”

Rowan felt himself frown: “An attempt at diplomacy?” he asked, trying to keep the distrust out of his tone.

“It would be, I suppose, if I worked for Barron.” the man said calmly. “I don’t, however. But I do wish to help.” He held out his hand: “I’m Gavin Howe, a merchant of this town.”

Rowan slowly shook the man’s hand: “And why do you wish to help? Merchants seldom seem fond of kender.” he commented.

“I would hardly invite one into my home; that is true. But I’ve nothing against them. Certainly nothing that requires use of force.”

“So I can consider you an altruistic merchant?” Rowan asked dryly.

Gavin gave a little smile: “Hardly. But you can consider me an ally with as much to win by taking _Lord_ Barron down a notch, as you have. Now, before that offends you-“ he held up a hand at Rowan’s sceptical expression: “please listen to me. Barron has done many good things for this town in the past and he is a shrewd enough merchant. But since he bought his title, his decisions have suffered and so has the free, legal trade of Hadburg. You would not only be doing me a favour by accepting my assistance, but also the farmers and townspeople upon whom he has imposed unfair and absurd taxes and tolls. As well as the kender.”

Rowan regarded the man for a while. “I see.” he said. “What-“ He stopped himself, when he realised what Gavin had just said and the pieces of the puzzle clicked together in his mind. “What are you proposing?” he finally said.

The other man gave him a small smile: “I’m proposing giving you support. Lots of merchants and townspeople have been getting more and more disgruntled lately. We need a catalyst for change. Nothing violent, mind you. But someone to help us nudge things in the right direction.”

 “I came here to stop a criminal action from happening again.” Rowan said. “I will. But if you want change, it’s for you to make it happen.”

“Wise words, and I agree.” The merchant nodded. “And it’s exactly what I’m doing. I would be foolish not to take advantage of an opportunity when it presents itself.”

Rowan stifled a laugh: “Truly a merchant. …In that case, tell me something about that title Barron just bought.”

 

o-0-o

 

Rowan rubbed his eyes and straightened his back, looking out over all the papers and books strewn across the table top in front of him. He’d long since taken off the armour; that show of force was done for today, and sitting around reading, poring over old law compendiums, wasn’t an armour-friendly activity.

As the sun had moved across the heavens, an interesting trickle of people, many of them associates of Gavin in one way or another, had begun appearing in the reading room of the newly restored town hall. Some were genuinely helpful in locating documents, books and information on specific laws. Some had been more curious bystanders than anything else. But as he and Gavin worked, checking facts and making certain, while the caretaker of the archives became more and more desperate at the influx of people, Rowan felt a great deal more relaxed.

Come what may, and he suspected it would be armed bullies and threats, he had the shield of words to force Barron into compliance. And unless every single citizen of Hadburg that had been past the archive since noon were more cowardly than curious, he’d also have witnesses.

As the evening bell tolled above, a commotion of voices was heard from the hall. Gavin gave him a sharp look as he laid out the last book on the table.

“I will go and get the other merchants. We will be here shortly.” Gavin said softly. Rowan nodded as the merchant made his way out through the back door at the end of the room.

The now very flustered elderly caretaker also hurried out, through the front door,  and returned moments later, bowing himself backwards into the archive, followed by Barron and four of his men.

Rowan smiled as he stood up to greet the small delegation. Although the armour had been set aside, he was still armed, and he recognised the man who had kicked him yesterday, standing behind Barron. A small part of his mind was hoping the situation would disintegrate into violence but he forcefully brought it under control.

“So, this is where you hide!” Barron barked.

Rowan gave a nod.

Barron smiled venomously: “You are under arrest!” He gestured at the men standing ready: “Get h-“

“What am I under arrest for?” Rowan promptly interrupted. “And which of these …men, is your bailiff? You are aware that the law requires a deputy steward, such as yourself, to have such a function instituted?”

Barron opened his mouth, then shut it again, and Rowan quickly continued: “If no reason is given and no bailiff has signed the warrant, the arrest is unlawful and I will not comply.” His hand went calmly to rest on the hilt of his sword. The men behind Barron hesitated; then looked behind them as several of the merchants of the town, led by Gavin, were shown in by the caretaker.

Barron turned to stare at them and then furiously closed the gap, shouting into Rowan’s face: “I am the Lord of this city. I don’t need permission to arrest anyone!”

“Well, you bought a title, as I’m sure your grandson will be grateful about when he becomes the first true lord this town has had since the Cataclysm.” Rowan said, irritation bubbling under the surface at having to smell Barron’s breath in his face. “But a purchased title of nobility does not become ratified until the third generation in direct male line. Perhaps you weren’t aware of that? Until then, you and your son will serve as deputy stewards, taking care of the land, overseeing that justice is done within the holdings and making certain taxes are collected and sent off to Vingaard.”

There was a rush of whispered conversation from the group of merchants who had filed quietly into the reading room and Barron spun around furiously to glare at them.

Gavin, standing in the front, gave a bow.

“You! What is this, insurrection?” Barron yelled, pushing his people aside to stand before Gavin: “You all owe me your loyalty. I made this city. Before I took over, it was just a heap of dung!”

Gavin nodded: “We know. None of us dispute that fact. But I’ve seen the laws Sir Virkhus refers to, and it seems certain problems needs to be addressed. Oversights, I’m certain.” he added smoothly. “But if you would do us the honour of hearing us out, there is a solution we would like to propose which would be of the benefit to everyone in Hadburg.”

Barron looked around, giving Rowan a nasty scowl, before he turned back to Gavin: “Why should I listen to anything you say?” he finally queried.

“Because all of us,“ Gavin spread out his arms to indicate all the merchants standing behind him: “know you as a man who values justice and puts the welfare of Hadburg before anything else; and the changes we are proposing are lucrative for both the city and its inhabitants.”

 _Appealing to both ego, pride and greed in one sentence…_ Rowan thought, doing his best not to roll his eyes.

Barron looked at the merchants, then at Rowan and back again. “Fine then!” he snapped after a moment, apparently realising he was outnumbered. “I’ll hear you. But it had better be worth my time.”

Rowan stepped back and watched as the talks unfolded before him. He was eager to reach the point where the kender’ rights as freemen could be discussed, but knew he would have to arm himself with patience.

 

o-0-o

 

The trees sheltering Houlinpoket finally came into view, bathed in the otherworldly glow of Lunitari’s red light. The sun would be rising in a few hours.

“We’re almost there.” he told Ben, who snorted.

“Don’t act that way. You’ve had a nice stable all day. I was buried in books and had to deal with the stupidest man in the world.” Rowan yawned.

The foundation for creating a city council in Hadburg had been laid. Barron would be head of the council, but the merchants, farmers and townsmen would have a voice in it too. Tolls and taxes had been discussed and so had the laws governing them.

The idea of creating the council had turned out to be less of a hurdle for Barron to accept than the deputy steward’s obligation of sending the collected taxes to Vingaard. But when Rowan had mentioned an old exception to the tax law that allowed the deputy steward to use the money on repairing the defensive and administrative buildings of a city in the lord’s absence, Barron had warmed to the idea.

A lonely night-bird screeched once from the treetops, but otherwise the village was quiet when he finally reached his destination. He knocked softly on the door to Rak’s parents’ house, but nobody answered and he put the heavy sacks of grains and seeds in a heap in the living room. He had demanded them as compensation for the damages the kender had suffered and was pleasantly surprised when Barron had granted it with a magnanimous mien. Perhaps it was the new title of Supreme Head of the Hadburg Merchant’s City Council that had softened his attitude…

Rowan then unsaddled Ben and made sure he was comfortable for the night. Or rather, the early morning. Then he took a blanket from a chair, rolled up on the floor and immediately fell into an exhausted sleep.

 

o-0-o

 

It had taken a while to explain to Rak, and then to everyone else, what a deed was and why it was important. But now the deed to Houlinpoket, fitted neatly in a wooden frame, was hanging on the wall in the common-house in the village.

All around the village, another party was underway. Music and laughter sounded and the smell of food lingered deliciously in the air.

“Did I miss all the good stuff? I bet it was really exciting.” Rak grinned at him. “Was it a great fight? Come on, tell me!”

A laugh jumped to Rowans lips: “Nothing worthy of song, believe me!”

“How did you do it then?” Rak persisted.

“I…” he shrugged, laughing. “I just sat around talking and looking things up in books. It was like I told you it would be. Fairly dreary. Just negotiations about giving and taking.”

“Who gave what?” Raksana asked, puzzled.

“Well, the citizens of Hadburg now have legal right to use the clay pit further south… I guess that’s what you gave. In exchange, they gave you the lawful right to live in peace and own your land. And to trade in Hadburg if you pay the same marketplace fees as everyone else does.”

“Did you know that someone could own a clay pit, Gran?” Raksana asked Ambertail who had joined them.

The old woman dismissed it with a wave of a gnarled hand: “It’s a human thing. They like to pretend they can own a hole in the ground.” She leaned on her hoopak and looked up at Rowan. “…No offence, Sapling.” she creaked.

“From a kender perspective, it does seem a little odd, I suppose.” Rowan said smilingly.

“I’ll go help with the food.” Rak stated and dashed off, leaving Rowan and Ambertail looking at the deed in silence a moment.

“How long do you suppose the deed will… stay hanging here?” Rowan asked.

“Until the next Cataclysm, of course.” Ambertail said. “It belongs to all of us. Like the entry sign at the edge of the village.”

Rowan nodded.

“So, how _did_ you do it?” Ambertail gave him an inquisitive stare. “Humans are rarely swayed by words, not as I know them.”

“In this case, they were. I explained to them what would happen if they decided to tax you.”

“What would happen, Sapling?” Ambertail asked, a note of worry in her old voice.

“You’d be delighted to send troops to patrol the city, as per your freeman obligation. …Suddenly they decided to accept that Houlinpoket was a neighbouring town and not subject to taxation.”

Ambertail gave a creaky laugh. “I’m sure the young ones would have enjoyed that, though. For a day or two.”

Rowan grinned and followed the ancient kender into the sunlight and party outside: “They can always volunteer, I suppose.”

 


End file.
